Snow
by dirtyprettything
Summary: I think you like to preserve your childhood you are amused quickly and bored as easily, in a way which doesn't really convey immaturity, just... a different way of growing up. [GinnyHarry unrequited]


Genre – General/Angst

Format – 1st person

Couplings – Ginny/Harry unrequited

Warnings – cynicism

AN - Written years ago. Apologies for the '14 year old melodramatic angsting girl' tone of it. I should probably apologize for that in all my fics, but no matter.

Summary – Snow. You love snow. I don't really know why you love it so much, but you do. I think you like to preserve your childhood; you are amused quickly and bored as easily, in a way which doesn't really convey immaturity, just... a different way of growing up.

**Snow**

Snow. You love snow. I don't really know why you love it so much, but you do. I think you like to preserve your childhood; you are amused quickly and bored as easily, in a way which doesn't really convey immaturity, just... a different way of growing up.

You love snow.

And because of that they love snow. They love snow because you love snow. Then everyone loves snow. Everyone loves snow because they love snow, and they love snow because you love snow.

I love snow. I love snow because I love you. And you love snow.

It's quite an interesting concept.

So is snow. That's a very interesting concept. I was walking around in the snow today, not very quickly, alone and just thinking about how odd snow was. It was quite hard not to think about snow, since it was pouring down in torrents around me and soaking through my coat and getting in my hair, covering the ground in... in... I'm in desperate search an adjective to describe how the snow covered the ground, in a poetic and original, yet truthful and non-cliché. I can't think of one.

Snow is a contradiction to itself.

How can something so innocent, be so harrowing and cruel?

Snow is white, snow is beautiful, snow is pure.

Snow is brown, snow is dirty, snow is churned up and swirled down, mixed in with every different kind of filth.

Snow is thick, snow is soft, snow is a layer of protection.

Snow is harsh, snow is jagged, snow creates pain, unhappiness, fear, even accelerates death. Snow is a mask, a mask behind which the same foul muck of the human race is hidden.

It's strange to think the same thing that causes broomsticks to crash, whole areas to freeze and people to be killed, is the same thing that little children take so much delight in playing in.

Little children don't play in fire.

But then again, neither do they play in fear of it.

Snow is cold, hard, cruel, and falls from the sky like tears, like tears cried by anyone and everyone who's ever cried, tears of hate, tears of jaded desperation, despair and at the same time tears of happiness, tears of laughter. It's fascinating just watching snow, each flake so tiny, blowing this way and that, pushed about by the icy wind, but as soon as it hits the ground it joins with other snowflakes, and they build up, more and more, until they become so mountainous and so numerous twenty people couldn't lift their weight.

It creates so many differences in people too. As I walked down a reasonably abandoned hallway this morning, two members of staff I dislike and a schoolgirl I've met once before all greeted me. I was stunned. I was absolutely positive this could not happen on a normal school day. Especially not to me, unnoticed and invisible Ginny Weasley. It continued like this within the small, tight few who turned up for lessons today. Everyone else was either not imaginative enough to want to actually achieve something with the time, too lazy or too ill to get out of their dorm rooms. You turned up. I had a bout of fear that you may not be able to make it, in fact I shook myself up into a frenzy with nerves, but in my heart of hearts... I knew you would. I knew you'd get there. It's just one of those things you do. You hate to be alone, but love it, in the same way that I do. I knew you'd show up, how could I have doubted you? Everyone was happy today. I think there were only a few people in bad moods. Or maybe there were more people feeling just as terrible as I was, but they hid it behind masks of happiness. I felt terrible, again, you made me feel like I wasn't worth anything, but I didn't realize until I got back to my dorm and thought about my every interaction with you. Snow can change people's attitudes, but it should make them feel worse, what with it's appearance being completely annihilated by trampling kids, with sudden urges to destroy it's frosty perfection. Everyone gets that urge, to jump right in the middle of that big covering of snow, I think it's a psychological link with softness, like blankets. I overheard Hermione telling someone that apparently muggle scientists speculate that there is more weather related reasons to do with depression than people think. It interested me, I suppose, and I asked her about it. She replied something about less sun and lack of heat, and psychological repercussions. I didn't understand, but strangely it's stuck in my mind.

I was walking down the road to Hogsmeade in my extensive and seemingly prolonged exclusively solitary free time, pondering this, kicking away with my feet, watching the fluff-like snowflakes wisp over the edges of my shoes, when I stopped. I stopped and I looked up and saw the strangest sight I'd ever seen. I saw the road which left Hogsmeade and entered the muggle-village on the other side of the mountain, that dark, dank, miserable, metal filled road, covered top to bottom in a coating of powder white snow, which made it look almost beautiful, almost picturesque. I saw tracks in the road, and a concoction of slush and ice and mud and grass all over the edges of the pavement, tainting the sad attempt the area had at 'pretty'. I saw three little children, running down the road, shrieking with laughter, whilst up the hill in the background a huge line of muggle cars were stood, quivering and shaking with the effort of having to cling, gripping insecurely onto an icy hill. And above all of this, the sun shone out.

And I thought... snow is so odd. But then again... maybe it isn't. Maybe snow is supposed to be like this. Maybe snow is not there to bring happiness or sadness or either to people. Maybe snow is just... snow. Just another weather condition. Just another droplet of water. Maybe I'm over-analyzing the situation again, and trying to understand something that I was simply meant to enjoy whilst I could, and not understand. Maybe snow isn't there for understanding.

Snow just is.

And I thought; maybe I am over-analyzing... maybe it is just another droplet of water.

And then... tentatively at first, I stuck my tongue out and let a flake of snow fall from the sky and onto my tongue. It tasted cold. But I'm not going to try and understand snow, I'm just going to let it fall. Just as another droplet of water. Like a teardrop.

You still love snow.

And I still love you.

I still cry for you too.


End file.
